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Gus finds himself a seat near the fireplace, slouched down into the sofa cushions almost to the point of assimilating with them.

He has a bottle of Harp in one hand, and a deck of cards in the other, which he's constantly cutting and shuffling.

_{[ooc: slowtime off and on today, because it's house cleaning day]

tiny tag: Gus Dickinson, Paul Varjack}

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"If somebody's coming after you, you don't have to worry about him here. Anyway, I'm not a cop."

Gus freezes. That's a strange statement for a stranger to make. For a moment, he thinks maybe Dennis is behind this, but that's absurd. He said he wouldn't tell anybody.

Gus clears his throat nervously. "Right," he says after a few moments. "Anything else you're not?"

"I'm not a reporter." Pause. "For now."

"Right..."

Gus slowly goes back to picking up his cards, not taking his eyes from the not-reporter for longer than he has to.

"What did you mean by 'no business'?" he asks, finally, still on his hands and knees on the floor. The stack feels light; he's missing about three cards, still.

"I didn't make the rules. The -- whomever runs this place -- the Landlord, he came up with it, I guess. It's supposed to mean no grudges. No ... acting out of grudges, at least. If you have a feud, or 'business', with someone outside the door, someone in your world, you or they can't do anything about it here. You've got to act as if nothing's happened between you. Or, at least, call a truce."

Gus inhales deeply. He manages to find two more cards under the sofa, but the deck is still light. One more... somewhere.

"I don't think that's gonna be a problem," he says simply. He sits up and takes another pull from his lager.

"Good. Breathe more. It's good for you."

This man is seriously strange. Gus can't help but laugh slightly.

"I'll keep that in mind." He feels around under the sofa with his fingers. "Where the hell...?"

I figure he's already been told where the hell he is, and thus assume he is looking for something in the couch. For that I can be of no assistance. So I lean back in the chair, staring into the fire again.

Gus manages to find his missing playing card and adds it to the deck. Without counting, he knows it's the full 54 (Gus keeps the jokers in his decks). As he situates himself back on the sofa, he fans out the cards quickly before going back to his one-handed cutting and shuffling. At least none of them got bent.

He nervously looks over to the not-reporter in the armchair. "What's that?" he asks, pointing to the note the man is holding.

He knows it's none of his business, but he can't help it.

My hand tightens around the note, crumpling it. "Oh -- nothing. Just a note from a friend."

Hmmm....

The reaction is a bit too much to resist. He keeps casually shuffling his cards, relaxing into the sofa slightly.

"Oh?" Gus asks, knowing full well he's butting in where he doesn't belong. "Everything all right?"

"Everything is fine."

Very interesting indeed.

Gus smiles for the first time in a few days. "No business?" he asks casually.

"It's the very opposite of business."

Gus wasn't completely sure what that meant, but it still managed to bring down his mood, again.

"I see," he lied.

"If you must know, it's an invitation to spend a weekend with a few friends."

"Oh, really?" Gus asked, suddenly remembering an arrangement of his own, that he knew he'd never make. At least he wouldn't be around for the fall out.

"You gonna go, then?" he asked.

"If Oliver wants to."

Gus considers that for a moment.

"Who's Oliver?" he asks.

"One of my friends." I can't help but say this with a sideways grin.

Friends. That's an interesting concept. The only thing friends are good for is stealing money.

"Have fun," he says off-handedly. "Arrange your own ride home."

"What makes you say that?"

Gus catches himself and shakes his head. He tenses up, dropping his cards on the floor again. This time, he leaves them there.

"What?" he asks quickly. "Nothing. Just... nothing."

I pause for a moment, then say, "They've already arranged travel."

Gus laughed ironically. "Good luck," he snorted.

"You're a really paranoid person."

You don't lose two million dollars and not become paranoid.

"Yeah," he admitted. "It happens."

"I think that's a bit more interesting than my little note."

Gus shrugged. "Nothin' new," he said simply. "I was the one stupid enough to sleep with her."

"Oh." That. That always ruins things.

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